Reminisce and Soullessness
by Neveah101
Summary: A girl without a past grudgingly accepts a future with the knights of the round table, and eventually decides to forsake all for love or glory. !Complete!
1. Heartache sans Hope

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, just the girl character who I realize doesn't have a name yet.

**Prologue: Heartache sans Hope**

They used to describe me as lively. Spirited. Fiesty. Now they walk by me, I am unseen, unnoticed, insignificant. I am dead. I walk, I breath, I eat, I _serve. _But I don't speak. I don't live.

My earliest memories, I think, are truly what keeps my mind alive, locked inside itself. I think back to my family, I try to picture their faces, the sounds of their voices, the comfort of their touch. It gets harder as I get older, the memories fade, and most of them memories I still cling to I am sure have more basis in fantasy than reality. My mother, who always smelled of honey and lavender, my father who laughed too loud. A little sister, so small, so fragile. And a brother. He was older, much older, and didn't live with us. He fought, I think, but I was so young, I did not understand. He was my hero, I spent years imagining…..But that was so long ago, none of that matters now. No, the past matters not, only the present, this hour, this second, this task.

That life is no longer. Now I serve, nothing more and nothing less, I am no more and no less than a slave, no name, no past, no feeling. Or so I try to convince myself. It seldom works. When I was small, perhaps four or five winters old, the sickness swept through our village like a plague, it took so many. My china doll of a sister. My friends. Grandparents. So many, but the faces are just a blur. The village was decimated, we needed food, labor, resources, we had none. My uncle came to our hut, with his own daughter, who was a little older than I. I had never liked Yaria, she would always call me names, and once she pushed me into the mud. But this day she was quite, and as still as death. We took my uncle black steed, traveling for many days. I was so excited to be allowed to ride the horse, I don't even remember saying goodbye. But perhaps they had all died by then. I was to understand that we were in Rome now, though I am unsure as to where I originally came from. We came to a market; it was the most amazing thing! Egyptian glass, beads from Persia, copper pots, dresses, veils, plants, strange animals and food, and so many different people!

My uncle spoke to a hairy man, and we all went inside a pub. He spoke to his daughter, and left, and waited by the hairy man. And waited. And waited. We waited for so long. I think my cousin knew. The hairy man looked at us with pity, but knew that business had to continue. He walked us to a nearby seller, where we were stayed in a pen for a couple days. I was bought, lead off into that maze of a city tagging along behind a fat man with pretty hair and purple clothes, watching as my cousin stay behind, bund to the post. I saw her grow smaller and smaller, I screamed her name but was promptly cut off be the fat man's hand against my head. And I never saw my cousin again.

I was not the best of servants, slaves really. This was not for lack of trying, for indeed I so desired to please at first. I was just not very good at being good. I might be told to pick herbs from the edge of the woods, and returns hours later with a bouquet of flowers for my mistress, or would talk out of turn, or laugh, or smile, or spill something. None of this was appreciated, of course, but I was small even for my age, with tumbling locks, rosy cheeks and a tiny voice, so I was tolerated, spoiled even, by other servants and the nobles alike. But things started to change as I grew. I was no longer candid, I was lazy or stupid or clumsy or whorish. I was too obtrusive as a child, and this cost me later in life. They all knew stories of me, they all knew me. But the looks I got changed, no longer a child, the women grew jealous of my appearance, and the men grew lustful, they would seek me out, which made the women hate me even more. The young mistress, Secunda, whom I served most often, saw the change in my demeanor. She allowed me to sleep in her room, on a pallet on the floor, asked her father to give me to her personally. He did, he loved her dearly, but that didn't change much. I would come back, bruised and beaten, barely speaking. What could I say, I, a slave?

One night I came back with blood dripping from my brow, and dirt matted in my hair and clothes. She looked so mad; I thought she was going to hit me too, though she never had. Instead, she gave me a cloth and then packed a small pouch with food, a flask. I watched as she sewed some coins into the hem of a raggedy tunic, but still did not understand. The next day she told her father that she was tired off me. I complained too much, I was lazy, an insulting little whore! My reaction was real as I stood in disbelief; my only friend was saying these things about me! The others all said them and I didn't care, but how could Secunda believe them? She told her father that she wanted to sell me, and she wanted to do it herself. This was unheard of, of course, and he refused, but she so pushed the matter, and eventually convinced him that as a fifteen year old, she should have been married years ago, and would soon be the mistress of her own household, and would have to know how to deal with disobedient slaves. He agreed to allow her to take me to the market, as long as Gallus, another servant, went with her. On the way, we stopped and bought prunes from a stand, and laughed and talked. But I still did not understand until Secunda made us stop at an inn. She pulled me into a room and opened her bag. Inside was the small satchel she had prepared, and boys clothing, and a knife. She ordered me to let down my hair – she cut it all off. Such shame and humiliation, she made me put on the boys clothing. I looked in the mirror. I looked like a young boy, maybe 9 years old instead of the fourteen I estimated that I was. Then she handed me her necklace, a simple black cord with a pendant in the shape of the symbol of a trident, symbol of the sea god, Poseidon. Secunda's family had originally lived by the sea, before moving inland. Once I got to go with them to visit it, it was so huge. "You must never forget what you are," she said, and smiled. I understood now. This was an act of compassion, not hate. She was giving me another chance.

Gallus noticed that I went into the room as a girl, and came out as a very distraught looking boy. He wouldn't tell though, he loved Secunda with all his thought, and would do anything for her. The rest of the trip he taught me how to walk, talk, and act as a man, and to forget "the wiles of women," with a devilish grin towards Secunda. Once at the market, I was sold as a boy: young, nimble, quick to learn. I was sold to a prominent Roman, a man named Marius Honorius. He was buying a surplus of slaves, I was later told, because he did not expect all of his own to make the trek to Britannia, to a province that had recently been granted to him by the Pope.

For two years I have served Marius. He is a disgusting creature. He tortures to make himself feel powerful, and excuses his behavior with religious justification. He is soulless. I soon found out that trying to remain intelligent and aware would set you apart from the others, would make you more prone to punishment, and eventual death. It didn't take much else to beat me down. I had lost all those who I ever loved. I had been hurt. I was in a strange and hostile land, with no hope of escape because of the native people who surrounded us, and no chance of making friends. The servants feared me for my foreignness, my strangeness, my oddities. Besides, now that I was supposed to be a boy, it was presumed I would associate with men, and I did not feel comfortable around them, So slowly I became what I am today, tired, worn, beaten, a featureless, genderless, emotionless being who survives, but does not live. A being with dreams for the future, but no hope. Never hope.


	2. A Thought in the Night

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, just the girl character who I realize doesn't have a name yet.

**Chapter Two: A Thought in the Night**

Yesterday I – yesterday, men came from the main house to the outlying servant quarters. They were guards, and they took what they wanted, as they always do. No one resisted, which was wise. I have seen them train. Actually, I've watched them quite closely at it, studying the way they move, how they hold themselves, strategy. But this time, they came to a tiny hut near the edge of the forest. I went there sometimes. The parents tolerated me because I was kind to their child, Brutus, a tiny little tow-headed boy. I would bring him "treasures" as he would say, feathers, pretty rocks, honey stolen from the storeroom. But yesterday, they came after his sister, the guards did. I did nothing, I walked away, these things happened, they had happened to me before. There was no stopping it. But Brutus, he tried – he was so small! What could he have done or said? He was so fragile. He's gone now. Gone? What a euphemism. He is dead. Slaughtered. That child had more courage than I can ever know. I can't stay here anymore, I've decided. This place sickens me, what I have become sickens me.

I will take my chance with the Woads. No one will be punished when they find I am gone, if they notice it at all. No one else will suffer while I look on. I loathe this person I have become, this coward. Tonight, that person will disappear, die even. And I will be reborn.


	3. Meetings in the Woods

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, just the girl character who I realize doesn't have a name yet.

**Chapter Three: Meetings in the Forests**

I have been traveling for many days now. My thoughts are clearer than they have been for ages! I can breath! There have been many strange sounds in the woods, but no people so far. Of that I am glad. I have had enough of people. I know this is a stupid idea. I don't have any idea as to where I am going. Not down the main path south, but east, and then whereto? I have no where to go, no one to meet, but I don't care. This forest is full of life, and helps me to forget. I have plenty to eat, because I brought my small hunting bow with me, and am making primitive arrows every night. They won't bring down large game, but I am well-off with rabbits and squirrels and birds. I am a good shot, I know this much. I study the plants as I go along. I had an uneasy relationship with the healer of the serf's, she was old, and would train me in return for me going out to the dangerous woods to collect herbs, and helping her. I've started talking to myself a little too, narrating my travels. I roll my eyes, I really am an odd one.

As i walk, Itry to remember a song that my mother used to sing to me, it was so beautiful, but what were the words? I hum the melody out loud and then stop suddenly. What was that sound? Dinner I realize, as I see a rabbit jump from the bushes. I draw an arrow from my quiver when TSEEE an arrow flies by my left ear! A warning shot, perhaps, but I don't stay to find out, and flee in the other direction. I hear footsteps after me, and voices, ack, no the voices were in front of me. I look up to see a group of men staring as their companion follows me. I swear under my breath, which only makes the men laugh.

One comes forward, he looks very young, but I don't recognize his garb. Not Roman, but perchance not Woad or Saxon either. Who else could they be?

"What's this you've found, Tristan?" he asks.

Tristan looks down at me, but doesn't speak. One of the others ventures a guess, "Dinner?" he asks, his long blondish hair catching the light.

I frown, who are these people?

"He's not a Woad," another states. He comes closer, he has dark curling hair, and an extremely intense look in his eyes. He grabs my arm roughly and rolls up my sleeve to reveal a tattoo, signaling my servitude. I am glad he does not see my other tattoo, further up my arm, I am not sure what it means or how I got it. It must have been from my original village. He frowns at the Latin markings, "just a runaway."

The others are not so easily convinced,

"Why would a runaway be in the middle of Woad territory?" the young one questions.

"Perhaps he's really is a Woad? Some kind of trickery?" That's the blond again. Tristan frowns,

"Why were you trying to shot at me with a child's weapon" he asks, holding up my small bow in front of him. Now it is my turn to frown,

"I was aiming for a rabbit."

"You thought I was a rabbit?"

"No! There was something else—"

"You thought my _horse _was a rabbit?" Tristan looked indignant. I start to respond, but the intense one interrupts me,

"It is still half a days journey back to the fort, we should leave now." He looks at me. "You'll come with us." I wasn't about to argue, they were all armed.

I learn they are knights, and there's not much else they will tell me. I am their prisoner, but they don't question me very much. I listen to their conversation, mostly jest. I am weary though, they seem nice, but they were definitely a threat. I still didn't know what they wanted, or what they thought of me. From what I could tell, they were in no hurry to get back to the fort. They walked most of the way, and stopped to hunt and such. Not your typical efficiency, I think they were coming back from a long hunting trip, and guessing from their speech, they were usually more than the four present. They stopped at a lake once, to examine a deer one of them brought down. They sat down on a log by a lake for awhile, and drank from a flask. The blond, Gawain, one looked up at me,

"Want some?" he gestured to the drink. Yuk, I shook my head.

"What were you doing out here, anyways?" I explained to him the most recent events of my life, but actually left out a bit. Surprisingly, they seemed to accept it, more or less.

"How old are you, my boy?" he speaks to me again. It was strange how easily I had accepted being referred to as a boy, even in the village. I look up and hesitate, I should still let them think I'm a boy, it's safer that way,

"Twelve."

Tristan snorts, and Lancelot laughs out loud. The more diplomatic Gawain reassures me that they were all just as small as I at twelve, which I doubt. Even for a girl, I am tiny. Lancelot eyes Gawain,

"I assure you, I was never that small. However, I do believe you were, in fact, I seem to remembering you being mistaken for a--" he is interrupted by Gawain throwing a large wad of mud at his head, but Galahad continues his sentence,

"Mistaken for a girl! What with your lovely long locks…"

I snicker a little. Gawain looks at me reproachfully,

"What!" he demands.

"Well, you do have awfully pretty hair," I say and then add "Sir," for good measure.


	4. Realizations in the Lake

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, just the girl character who I realize doesn't have a name yet.

_Hmm, I think when I started this fic I was kinda depressed, but hopefully it'll get happier or funnier, I don't really know where I'm going with it. But thanks for reviewing everyone!  Oh yes, I guess this is before the movie, because no one's dead. I don't know if it matters exactly how many years. Just make up an arbitrary number, because I really don't know yet._

_Zelina: Opps, what I meant at the end of chapter 2 was that her idea of herself as this subservient, mindless person will die, and she would reassert herself in her own life, I guess. I suppose that would have been easier to convey had I given her a name, lol. _

_je suis une pizza: Yup, I'm a sort of computer-disoriented (no really, computers have it out for me, all of them) but I tried change review thing so maybe I'll be getting more. Thanks a bunch for the tip  _

**Chapter Four: Realizations in the Lake**

The knights seem to have a soft spot for me. I think they understand being forced to serve, and though running is not an option for them, they can understand it. They seem to have a grudge about the Romans as well, and so don't speak of reporting me, though we still aren't back to their camp. The young Galahad is sweet and kind, almost to the point of naivety, but perhaps he knows more of the world than he lets on. They've all seen a lot. Gawain has a sense of humor, though is still always aware of his responsibilities. Tristan….Tristan I don't understand, he watches, lurks really. I can understand watching, it is the best way to learn, but he has a way of making it feel unnerving, like were being stalked. And the last, Lancelot, I do not trust him. He'll laugh with his friends, then see me and glare. He does not trust me, and I certainly do not trust him. I believe he would rather have just killed me to start with, or left me to the Woads, then to have bothered with taking me along. He watches too, but looks at me different than Tristan. Tristan is doing his job, he is a scout. Lancelot is searching for something, like he knows or suspects something about me.

It's obvious that they are in no hurry to get back to their camp. I think their trip hunting was a rare retreat for them, a chance to leave regulations and duty behind them and be free for awhile, and they are not eager for it to end. They meander by the lake, laughing at each other's attempts to skip stones. Tristan and Lancelot walk back up to the tree line surrounding the lake, leaving Galahad and Gawain to argue. They seem to be close friends.

"No, you have to flick your wrist, like this,"

"Flick? Flick? Who flicks? Honestly Gawain, you pansy, sometimes I really do believe you're a girl,"

"Right, says you with the rosy cheeks and skin as soft as a baby's---"

I think one kicks the other. I look up in time to see Gawain jump Galahad in a most impressive manner, and dunk him into the shallows, and then they are both up laughing and cursing at each other.

I turn around to see what Lancelot and Tristan think of this. Tristan is nowhere to be seen, but Lancelot is watching me again. He is always watching, he is suspicious, or knows something, I can tell. He makes me think, though. I cannot stay with these people. It was silly of me to think that strangers would welcome a rogue off the streets. Besides, they are military, not villagers, what could I do for them? And within a year or so, they would all grow suspicious when I don't grow taller, when my voice doesn't drop, when I don't start shaving or flirting with girls. I cannot stay here. I do not like the way Lancelot looks at me, it reminds me…it reminds me of the way Marius would look at me, and the men Secunda's villa. As if I was prey.

I decide to leave later, it was better that way. I don't want to hurt them, nor do I wish them to hurt me in pursuit. I will just sneak off. But when? We'd be back to the fort soon enough. I turn to look out at the lake, and interrupt my thoughts with my own laughter. Galahad and Gawain are so entwined trying to push the other into the lake that it looks more like a lover's embrace than a warriors brawl. They both look up and quickly come to the realization themselves, and push away from each other.

"What are you laughing at, boy?"

"Oh pray tell, what so amuses you?

I try to look very solemn, but Galahad has some absurd slimy creature attached to his face, and Gawain, from a distance, truly makes an attractive women with his hair wet. I snort, and laugh full out. Gawain and Galahad exchange a knowing glance, and then simultaneously lunge for me and throw me over their shoulder's into the water. Ack! Though the day is warm, the water bites at my skin and takes some getting used to. I stand up, I am farther out from shore than they, and can feel smooth stones under foot. I grab a handful and swim back to shore, handing them to Gawain.

"Why don't you stick to stone-skipping? It's much less painful..."

But now I'm wet anyways, so I swim a little further out, diving for more stones because I have nothing better to do. I see a large fish, so big! I follow it for awhile, and when I surface I realize how far out I am. They men are still laughing among themselves. I could leave, right now, in broad daylight! They probably won't notice my lone figure in the water until I am near the other side, and the last crossing was miles back. I doubt anyone would follow me, most feel the ability to float in water implies witchcraft. Which, I suppose, will really not help me if they do catch me, or worse, just shoot at me from the shore.

I swim quietly, trying not to splash, but not going to fast, so it looks innocent indeed. I hear Galahad yell. I smile and wave, then dive back under and swim beneath the water towards the other side. They don't know which direction I'm going. But when I resurface, I see that Galahad is following me! His strokes are childish though, and slow moving. He is not a threat. More yelling…But not at me, Galahad is struggling, and then disappears, leaving only bubbles. It is obvious that Gawain cannot swim, he just stands on shore and looks horrified. Tristan and Lancelot are far off, I can see them running, but they have light armor on anyways, despite that we are no longer in Woad territory, and it would weigh them down. I dive back under the water….and swim towards Galahad. I get there before the others, but there's no sign, they are shouting from the shore "Left! Left!" I swim that way and see dwindling bubbles and, underneath, a figure, a shadow really, sinking, down, down, down. I grab Galahad and haul his back up. I don't think he is breathing, he doesn't respond. If I go back to the first shore the knights may be able to help him, but likely kill me. The other shore is farther, I might not be able to carry both our weights. I remember Brutus. I swim back to the knights.


	5. Alone in My Thoughts

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, just the girl character who I realize doesn't have a name yet.

_Clarification for Zelina: Brutus was the little dude who tried to save his sister in chapter…something. Chapter two I guess. _

_oh yeah, can anyone tell me what "mary-sue" means? And is "beta-reading like proof-reading? Oh well, I am off to study for AP French exam...the horror! srry this is so short._

**Chapter Five: Alone in My Thoughts**

I am out of breathing, moving slower, and starting to sink. So close. The others wade out, and grab Galahad, dragging him back to shore. He looks dead. Lancelot looks at me in utter loathing, and hits me, hard. I already can't breathe, and am on the ground, I look back over to Galahad. I can feel my chest rise and fall with great magnitude as I breathe…breathe…..breathe? I crawl back to Galahad, quickly, and put my mouth over his and exhale deeply. I do it again. Nothing. I feel for a pulse, his heart still beats! I am crying, I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. I feel like the bringer of death and misery, it follows me. Or maybe I create it. I try once more, I give him breath, but something happens this time, his eyes open! He sputters and coughs, sees my face and pushes me away. He is alive. The others rush around him, pushing me away. They huddle around him, give him a blanket, walk him back up the shore, place him on a horse, and walk away. All of them. Tristan looks over his shoulder at me as I watch their silhouettes disappear, and they are gone.

By all rights they should have killed me. I could be a spy, I nearly got Galahad killed. But I was scared to stay, scared at the possibility of growing attached to people again. All those I've ever loved have left, gone, in one form or another. My family. Secunda. Little Brutus. Once I even had a pet rabbit for a week or so, until my neighbor grew hungry. I sigh. That look Galahad had given me. Like I had betrayed him. Like I sickened him. Like I wasn't worthy of being spoken to, and something else, like he had just figured something out about the world, or me. So much guilt. I wish they had tried to kill me. I wish they had tried to hurt me, so that I could hate them and get on with my life!It was so much easier to feel anger than it was to feel shame. But no, they hadn't tried to kill me. They realized that I went back for Galahad when I didn't have to. So they let me go, the honorable thing to do, a life for a life. But they had left me with a horrible pit in my heart, this terrible guilt. They had trusted me.

"Argh!" I scream in frustration, and kick a tree root. Of course, this only hurts my foot, I collapse beside the tree and curl into a ball. No, I try to convince myself, I didn't betray them. I was their prisoner. It's a natural desire, to run, to escape. They didn't have to follow, I meant them no harm. And maybe they were going to hurt me, or would have when they discovered my secret. What reason did I have to trust them? Then again, why reason did they have to trust me? What reason even to let me live in the first place. I don't know what to do. I am very alone.


	6. Second Chances

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, just the girl character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something.

_katemary77 – wow, thanx for all the info, it really clears things up. I hope you like the rest of the story. Oh, I'm reading your story, ( lancelot _: )

_thanks to everyone who reviewed, it makes me happy. smile_

**Chapter Six: Second Chances**

I want to make it up. I don't want them to remember me as that false friend they found in the woods. I don't want to have this weight of guilt on my soul, along with that of my family, of Brutus. I don't know how though. My pride won't let me follow behind them like a dog, nor am I willing to beg. I need an excuse…Galahad's tunic was opened when they pulled him out. That means that the belt he had on to tie it, with a small pouch attached, had fallen off. I search for it in the shallows, and don't find it until twilight. It is getting cold, the temperature is dropping, I no longer have my bow, and I'm wet. But I have the pouch and belt. I look at it; it is made of intricately leather, shaped into a never-ending knot. In the pouch I find a few coins, a soggy piece of bread, and something small bundle in cloth. I open it. Inside it is a charm, a keepsake really, perhaps a memento from home. It is a glassy black stone that seems to suck in all light, with carved markings on it. I don't know what they mean, but as I finger the stone in my palm, it feels familiar almost, as if it might start talking in a language I used to know. I hastily wrap the stone in its cloth again, and put it away. It disturbs me.

The knights are not hard to trail. As I said, we were well out of Woad territory, and the paths they used were well-defined. I follow it for several miles until I see a fortress. It is stylized in the Roman fashion, as imposing as Hadrian's wall itself. There is now way I could get in, nor am I stupid enough to try. Instead, I wait by the tree line. I wait for days, in fact, eating what I can find, watching riders come in and out, and trying to avoid patrols. I notice a pattern. I know that tomorrow the knights I met, along with three others, including a Roman, will leave the fort and pass near the western wall, venturing close to the tree line. I will meet them there. I must, because I cannot live for much longer on just forged plants, I need my bow back, or a knife, anything.

The next day I place myself unobtrusively behind a tree covered in foliage. I wait until the knights pass, even Tristan doesn't not see me, crouched down under the thicket. But they all notice when I stand, and before I can even take a step forward, they veer back and surround me on horse back. It occurs to me that perhaps this was unwise, maybe they really will just kill me this time, but it's too late now.

"Well, watch'you want then?" a gruff man snarls me. He's a giant really.

"I—I…Galahad…left this…" I hold out the pouch.

"Left? Left? You mean lost when he almost drowned?"

"Yes," I reply unabashed.

"Well how'de'we know you didn't just filch it after you thought him dead?"

The big man has obviously been told the story. I hand the pouch back him anyways though, and the others start to back away. They are leaving again.

"Wait!" I call, wanting to stop them,

"Tristan, I – I can't eat without my bow." He had never returned it after finding me that first day. Even if I couldn't make amends with the knights, I still needed to eat. He looks down at me for a very long time, and than slowly nods his head.

"Wait here." And they ride off, and I see Galahad checking his pouch to see if anything is missing.

I do wait. In fact, I wait for a very long time. The knights do not return until the end of their patrol, far after nightfall. I am uneasy being so close to the Roman encampment, so far from the safety of the inner forest, so defenseless. By now Tristan and the other knights must have decided what to do with me. I hear horse hooves. They've come back.

"I am Arthur Castus," calls the Roman, "you will come with us."

I walk forward, and can only see the outlines of their figures in the dark. I yelp as someone grabs me roughly, hoists me up to their horse, and gallops off with the others.

We travel back to the fort. Upon arriving, I am taken in for questioning, for a very, very long time. Fortunately, this Arthur seems a compassionate man. He not only believes me, or at least believes what I tell him, but also allows me to wander around the civilian part of their fortress later on.

By now it must be well past midnight, but still there are Romans and knights about, drinking, gambling, laughing. I find a spot on the floor by a corner; close enough to the fire, but far enough not to draw much attention. The knights saw me walk in though, I know they did. I sit and watch. The knights pointedly ignore me, and burst into laughter again with a glance my way. They will not forgive easily, this I know. They are loyal to their friend whom I hurt. I close my eyes and feel the heat of the fire. When I open them, someone is standing over me. It is Galahad. I start to stand, surprised, but he shakes his head and sits down next to me. Silence. Finally, he speaks,

"You look hungry. Here." He pushes a bowl of porridge to me. I take it and stir it slowly,

"Galahad, listen, I didn't mean for--" he cuts me off,

"It's alright. We're all alive, and you were just scared." I glance up sharply and he is looking at me meaningfully, as if he's trying to tell me something. I frown, not understanding, so he elaborates,

"You were hovering above me, trying to give me life. When I awoke the face I saw was that of a woman. Your face." Oh no. Oh dear. Oh crap, this is not good. What will they do when they learn? What if they…I must have looked frightened, because he quickly adds,

"I won't tell. I'm sure you have your reasons." I don't answer, I don't know what to say, so he tries again,

"What is your name, anyways?" he asks. My name? At the villa they called me Decimus, "tenth," a man's name. But my name, my name….

"Dzerassa. My name is Dzerassa." It feels strange to say, after all these years.

"Dzerassa?" Now he is surprised and continues, "'Fair Dzerassa, Daughter to the Lord of the waters, Mother to the Narts." It sounds like Galahad is quoting something.

"What does that mean? Why did you say that?" I ask.

"Do you not know the meaning of your name? Dzerassa is spoken of in the myths of both the Scythians, and the Sarmatians, my own people." I didn't know this.

"Where is Sarmatia? Is it close to Rome?" Perhaps I am Sarmatian. Perhaps I was sold to Romans, and that's how I ended up there.

"Sarmatia is in the east…" Galahad answers and trails off, I can tell he is thinking of something else, "I used to have a sister named Dzerassa," he says, and smiles, "She loved the water. And the birds." We both look at each others features for a moment, wondering. He gets up abruptly and turns to me, "It is a common name," and then he walks away, and I watch. I do not ask what became of his sister.

I wonder if I am from Sarmatia. Or my parents. A part of me would like to believe that Galahad could be my brother, maybe that was why the stone in the pouch felt familiar, but deep down I know that it is just wishful thinking. But it does make me wonder. Most of my family, whatever country they were in, I do not know, was dead. Some must have lived, though, if the money from the selling of my cousin and I were used to buy the needed supplies. And I did have a brother, taken by the Romans. He would still be in their service, I think. I don't remember any of their names though, not my family, all I have are vague images, scattered sounds, feelings, sometimes a smell will trigger a memory. But not often. But I hadn't considered the possibility of finding anyone.

_I did some research on finding a name for the character. Apparently, there are few Greek references on Sarmatian-Alanian mythology, but it appears that Dzerassa was the daughter of the Lord of the waters, and the she-ancestor of the Narts, a race of giants in the myths originating in the Caucacus of Georgia, (the country, not the US state!). I do not know if she was supposed to be "fair," but I took a guess because I needed an adjective. If I got these or other facts wrong, please tell me, it wasn't on purpose or for any lack of respect to the culture._


	7. Drink and Anxiety

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, just the Dzerassa's character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something.

je suis une pizza -- _I don't think the knights are close enough to her to be angry, they are just wary of her, and with good reason, they only know what she told Arthur about herself, which was probably vague at best. Probably they do not often decide to trust people, and to have it so blatantly returned with suspicion mistrust might be taken as a snub. If they had problems with accepting the idea of her being allowed to roam freely through the encampment, they would have said so to Arthur in private, not in front of Dzerassa, so the audience is left as in the dark as she as to their objections or opinions about her. Mostly they just need to see that Galahad is ok with the girl before they feel they can accept her._

_As for the pronunciation of her name, I actually searched the web for any female Sarmation names I could find, because I really don't know anything about Sarmatia but wanted it to be authentic, so I haven't heard it spoken myself. I would imagine that if you pronounced it phonetically, it would be pretty close to how the name is supposed to sound. _

_Thanks to Babaksmiles, Zelina, je suis une pizza, fiji-mermaid, katemary77, __Raynacch SilverMoon__, and anonymous person for reviewing!_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Seven: Drink and Anxiety**

Galahad leaves the bar for a long time. I can see him in the distance, sitting on a fence looking out towards the dark. I gather my clock around my shoulders and start to leave, but he comes in again, looking flushed despite the cold. I see an empty flask in his hand, and realize that he must have been drinking out there, and thinking. He grins, and drags me over to the table that the other knights are sitting at. Honestly, he makes an extremely friendly drunk. The others are more relaxed around my presence now that they see that Galahad is alright with my…well, my existence. Bors grunts and pushes a frothy mug of mead towards me. I take it tentatively, as if I expect something to jump out of it, this isn't the cleanest establishment ever, but Lancelot quickly snatches it out of my hands. I frown at him, but he shoves a smaller mug towards me.

"Ah, that's the better one to drink, lad," Lancelot explains, and the others laugh hysterically. I stare at them all, perplexed.

"See now, boy, they spit in that first one," Tristan volunteers softly,

"Ah, nawh! Lancelot's just greedy and wants the bigger mug," Gawain jeers, and they burst into laughter again.

"Hey!" Galahad protests, "When I was his age, you all let me drink three cups of that stuff before telling me about your added ingredient!" More laughter. Gawain looks sharply at him, "And that's not for lack of warning, friend."

Now the others are curious,

"What's this then?"

"Gawain warned Galahad! Back when he was new!"

"Gawain, you traitor! You warned an initiate about our drink?"

"Yeah, come on, we all drunk it!"

Gawain laughs at all the accusations, "And for all the good it did! Stubborn little Galahad didn't believe me, and drank three mugs of our spit-beer!"

They laugh drunkenly again, and Galahad blushes. It's all quite amusing, but I make a mental note to avoid accepting food and drink from them in the future. Of course, I am not an initiate-knight like the others were when they drank their "spit-beer," but it is nice to laugh with people. It is nice to feel that they accept me – or at least, the boy they think I am.

* * *

I have become an all-around apprentice of sorts, meaning, quite frankly, that in return for bed and board, I do pretty much whatever the knights want me to do. Someone forgot their cloak? Send Dzer to fetch it. Someone is ill? Dzer will tend to them. Someone wants a live target for archery practice? Well, it hasn't come to that yet, but I'm waiting. Not that I'm complaining, it is nice to have a purpose, as ambiguous as it may be. I have a feeling that I will be doing a little bit of everything until I show a little talent in one area, and then will be trained more in that field. I've gone out hunting with Tristan and Dagonet a couple times, and often, when no one else needs me, I go to the sick-halls and help the healers there, mostly cleaning or changing bandages, nothing too extreme. Almost every morning that he has spare time, Gawain will call me to the practice courts behind the main complex. I don't know whether he does it because he thinks I should learn to how to handle weapons, or simply because he likes to laugh at me.

"No, see, Dzer dearest, you want to lift the blade _over_ your head when you do that— " Gawain laughs.

"Ugh, that's easy to say when_ your_ blade isn't half _your_ weight," I reply, breathless,

"Well, if you wanted, I could get you a play sword. Or maybe a toothpick…" I drop the sword and glare at him. He takes this as a challenge and immediately assumes a defensive position, "Ah, my miniscule friend, you think you can take me weaponless?"

I start to reply, "No, I didn't mean—ack!" he comes charging at me like some rabid cow and I jump out of the way. Alright, this is the one area I know I can succeed in, years of watching those Roman soldiers at Marius', trying to teach myself defensive hand-to-hand combat. He comes rushing at me again, still smiling, but at the last second I crouch down, tucking my head down and covering it with my hands. He trips over my back and goes flying. I stand and smile at him from above. He gets back up and comes after me, but I am to fast and too small. This is fun! Finally, he gets close enough to throw me, but I curl into a ball again, and quickly spring back up. I kick him in the stomach, and then deliver an impossibly high kick over my own head, hitting him, and try to push him to the ground as he comes falling down, but at the last second he grabs me and flips me under him so that I am pinned. Try as I might, once under his weight, I can't get free. We both laugh, he says "See, now, if I were a Saxon, this is when my friends and I would kill and eat you _very slowly_ for being such a pesky little thing." I laugh again, but not so hard this time, it is getting hard to breathe. I hear more laughter, and Galahad comes walking up, "He almost had you there Gawain! We'd better watch our backs—" He laughs again.

"Gawain, get off of me," I say, but I don't know if he can hear me, he's still laughing with Galahad, "Gawain!" I scream, this is scaring me for some reason, this reminds me….a panicky feeling rises in my chest, I WANT HIM OFF, I free one of my hands and strike upwards, hitting his nose. He quickly jumps up in pain and I run out of the yard. Deep breaths, deep breaths, I tell myself. It's hard to breathe.


	8. Baths and Melodies

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, just the girl character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something.

**Chapter Eight: Baths and Melodies**

I wander around the civilian part of the complex for awhile, trying to calm my self down. I find a stream near the outer edge, by a grove of trees, and sit there for awhile, just thinking, or trying not to think. I stay there for a very long time, until the sun starts to disappear behind the trees. I start to get up to leave, but I hear footsteps so I squat back down. It is a woman, alone, walking along the streams edge. She is coming from downstream, where two streams meet making a stronger currant. She is carrying a basket of laundry at her side, and is half-humming, half-singing a tune. She is beautiful, and for a second, I catch myself gazing in the mirror at my own reflection. She would never pass as a boy.

I jump out of my reverie, mentally slapping myself, and look at the woman again. As she gets closer, I can start to make out the song she sings. "Land of bear and land of eagle……lalalala, lalalana…." Why does that sound familiar? It plays over in my head…wait….the song! The one my mother used to sing! The one I couldn't remember exactly how it sounded…."We will go home….lalalana…we will go home 'cross the mountains…" Home! MY HOME! She is so beautiful. I follow her, trying to catch every word, every tune, but she is more humming than singing, it is hard. I am so caught up that I don't even notice that I myself am being followed. I have tears running down my cheeks, I haven't truly cried in years, but I don't care. I follow her back up through the dirt streets until she disappears into a small house. I sit on some steps across the way and watch the house. Maybe that's what my house was like…no, this is Roman style. But I don't care. I see Bors go into the hose a little after twilight, and am surprised. So I am Sarmatian after all.

Galahad finds me on those steps later, once night has fallen. He looks concerned, probably because my eyes are bloodshot, and because of how I acted this morning with Gawain. He doesn't ask me about anything though. I suppose he has guessed why I reacted that way, and I am in no hurry to ever speak of it. Instead, he walks me down the path to the bathhouse. He says that the other knights will be in conference, so I can bathe undisturbed. I think he enjoys no longer being the youngest, he likes having someone to take care of. I smile faintly and hug him, a bath sounds perfect, I haven't felt clean in months. Years maybe.

I sink into the bath, and the water floods around me like a warm embrace. It has mosaic tile around the edge, and white pillars. It is huge, and sunken into the floor, Roman style, like everything else. I close my eyes and just float on the surface of the water for awhile. I look around and see soap and scented oils in a cubby in the wall. For once, perhaps I can smell like a woman, or perhaps, at least just not like a dog. I get out to get the soaps, and as I am stepping back into the water, I hear footsteps. I turn around quickly, and see Lancelot step out from behind one of the pillars. I try to hide under the water, but its no use. It's water, clear, and doesn't do anything to hide my form. I glare at him, but he has this cockish smirk on his face. Finally, he says something, "I always knew there was something strange about our Dzer, and then today I hear how he panicked on the courts, so unbecoming of a warrior, and later I see him crying as he follows the fair Vanora to her house. These are not the tears of a love sick boy, I thought to myself…." He doesn't make anymore attempt to speak or even move after that. He just sits there, looking, enjoying his power and my shame. I glare back and stand up suddenly. I walk to the other end of the bath and step out, pointedly, deliberately, and unabashed. I throw a cloak around my shoulders and leave him there. I go back to my small room by the stairwell that leads to the knights chambers, and sit down on the bed. It's been a long day.


	9. Tricks and Tasks

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, just Dzerassa's character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something._

_ I realize that I haven't described Dzerassa physically yet. I have an idea of how she should look, but was wondering: how do you all picture her?_

**Chapter Nine: Tricks and Tasks**

The next day I awake to the sound of whispers outside my door. I open it, outside is Galahad. He smiles, and gestures over his shoulder. I dress quickly and follow him out to the courtyard to see Gawain waiting for us. The both start walking towards the stream.

"What's this?" I ask. Galahad responds, "I don't know. But Gawain is holding my breakfast hostage until I woke you—" He shoots a nasty look at his companion, and Gawain and I both laugh. Gawain hands him a piece of bread and an apple he had been hiding in his cloak, and then he gives one to me too. I take it gingerly and ask in a much lighter tone, "Where are we going?" Gawain only nods.

After about a fifteen minute walk, with much laughing and teasing between us all, we arrive at Gawain's destination. It seems he's either forgotten or just doesn't care about my reaction yesterday, which, I must say, is a relief. Galahad and I survey our surroundings: we are still within the protective walls of the fortress, but near the edge. We've followed the small creek down stream, and are at the edge of a serene looking pool of water, large and deep. There is a grassy knoll on one side, and it is surrounded by friendly-looking trees. It's all so peaceful. That is, it is so peaceful until Gawain tries, unsuccessfully, to skip a rather large rock across its surface. I roll my eyes at him, "So why are we here?" He grins at me, "You're going to teach me how to swim. And teach Galahad how to swim _better._" I raise my eyebrows, and glance over at Galahad. It is obvious from his reaction that he did not know of this plan, but seems like he thinks it might be fun. He shrugs indifferently, and both men start pulling off their close and jump in, Gawain staying very close to the edge so as not to drown. They turn to me, expectantly. I just stand there, kind of shocked. "Well?" asks Gawain, "Are you going to teach us or not? You owe it to us after almost getting Galahad drowned." I know by the tone of his voice that he is still kidding, but his voice has a kind of edge to it, like he is daring me. I look over at Galahad who just seems amused, waiting to see how I react. Maybe by now he doubts that I am a girl. Well, I see no reason to prove it to him. "Fine," I say, in an equally lighthearted voice, "But you have to turn around." Both men roll their eyes, but agree, although I hear Gawain mutter "fairy" under his breath. Once their backs are turned, I do the only thing I can think of to get myself out of this predicament. I steal their clothes. All of them. And then I run back towards camp.

Once I reach the knight's rooms I burst out laughing. No one is inside, so I put Gawain and Galahad's clothing back into their respective rooms. I am still laughing as I walk out, but cease suddenly as I see Lancelot leaning against the wall of the hallway. He nods slowly as I walk past. I know that he is not a bad man, I know that he only wishes to watch out for his fellow knights against anything suspicious, but he puts me on edge. I feel his eyes on me as I walk towards the door.

A few hours later I am asked to come into the knights meeting hall. I have only been there once before, when Arthur questioned me that first day. It is huge, but hollow or empty seeming. There is a magnificent round table at its center, that seems to glow in its own glory. No one else is there yet, so I wait, awkwardly leaning against a column. I don't feel that I have the right to sit down in one of the knight's chairs, deceased or otherwise. After a few minutes the others come in, Dagonet and Tristan, silent as always, and then Bors, who seems to be cursing at something. A few minutes after that Gawain and Galahad walk in together. I burst out into laughter in that silent room, and they both glare at me. I try to shut up, but can't. Bors makes an obscene sound, he has obviously heard about the knights failed attempt to discretely re-enter the town. For a second I think they might really be mad at me, but then I see that their eyes are laughing though they try to maintain an indignant expression on their faces. After a minute though, they give up and start laughing, and thenswear that they will have their revenge on me in a most humiliating of manners.

We all wait around, although I still don't know why I have been called to this meeting, I know I am not anywhere near meriting it. A few more minutes pass, and then Arthur and Lancelot arrive, deep in conversation. The others all rise in greeting, and Arthur holds out his hands. He speaks, "Knights: a task."

Arthur explains the situation. The mission is nothing out of the ordinary, nothing extremely dangerous. There is a contingent of Roman soldiers scheduled to land on the east shore in two days. This is routine, however, it was reported that a bridge they would need to pass has collapsed. Because Arthur and his knights are all very familiar with the terrain, they will ride to the docks and then escort the regiment back to the fortress. I am confused, this is all extremely ordinary, in the few months I have been here, they have gone on countless such trips. Why have I been called to this particular briefing? At the last minute before dismissing everyone, Arthur turns to me and informs me that I will come along for the experience. I have a feeling that there is more than is being said, but immediately agree despite my misgivings.


	10. Friendship and Duty

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, Dzerassa's character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something._

_I was thinking about the character and realized that the ages and number of years that I vaguely mention later in the story don't always add up. Sorry about that, and just bear in mind that, with her life, neither she nor her owners would know her exact age, and their guesses could have been years off because she is small and perhaps appears younger than she is. Just go with the concept that she is in her mid-to-late teens, maybe 16 or 17 (and gets older with the undetermined amount of months that she stays with the knights.) I think that she could still mask her gender at that age by pretending to be a younger boy around 12; high voice, no facial hair, appearing not fully grown. _

**Chapter Ten: Friendship and Duty**

The first half of the trip passes without incident. The knights talk, joke, eat, sleep, ride, like always. I tend to stick by Galahad and Gawain, I feel relaxed around them, though I am still curious as to what Gawain thinks of me. In any case, we arrive at the ports within two days and seek out the Roman regiment that we are supposed to escort back (much to the Sarmatian knight's distaste.) Arthur dismounts and goes to talk to the commander of the new arrivals, and comes back looking grim. "The commander says the ships arrived here early. Rather than waiting for their messenger to return from our fortress, one contingent went off by itself to try and find another way to us." The other knights express their disgust at this lack of better judgment, and Arthur continues, "They marched off straight into Woad territory and haven't been heard from since."

Bors scoffs at the news, "Let me guess: they want us to go rescue their sorry asses?" Arthur nods slightly, "A full-fledged rescue is impossible so deep into enemy territory. If we called attention to ourselves, we'd be killed. Our best chance would be a more discrete approach." I notice that Tristan tenses up slightly at the suggestion, and then he nods to Arthur. I don't understand what is happening, but Arthur continues, "Tristan will seek out the missing soldiers and guide them back as best he can. The rest of us will escort the main group back to the citadel." He pauses and than continues, "Someone should go with Tristan, so deep into Woad territory, no one should be alone." He looks at me, and I glance around, confused, "You will go," he commands. I see Lancelot smirking in the background, "It is certainly a _man's_ job," he taunts. I know that he regards this as a test, of loyalty and of strength. I believe that he will tell my secret if I don't agree, and besides, I would not leave Tristan to venture so far alone. "I will go," I agree.

I wish that I could say that Arthur asked me to go with Tristan because of my fierce combat skills. Or my healing powers. Or my unrivaled talents for…something. But I know that this is not the case. I know that I was chosen because I am expendable. To put it simply, I have enough training that I am able to travel quietly and stealthily, a necessity, and that I will be able to ride for help, and put up somewhat of a fight if stealth should fail. But I am not good enough that my safety can be assured, nor am I worth too much to be put at risk. No need to jeopardize a true knight on the well-being of foolish Roman soldiers, and Tristan should be able to take care of himself at least. I sigh. Oh well, I guess I will just have to try especially hard not to be killed. With one final glance at the party, I ride off, following in Tristan's wake.

It seems that there is much more to Tristan than one picks up on at first. He doesn't speak much, but once or twice on our journey I stumble across subjects that peak his interest. Although by no means a conversationalist, I discover that he makes a magnificent storyteller. He says that in his clan, that is how history and legend are remembered, through the voices of the elders, down the generations. I wonder how these knights will be remembered. We travel quite awhile in the forest, quietly, seeking signs of the Romans. Tristan points out things that I would not have considered, even if I had noticed them; the way a tree branch has been broken, or how a tuft of dead leaves has been kicked up, a footprint, even a discarded sandal tie. Within the first few days we find the Romans. They are dead. All of them. I feel sick as I survey the bodies; it looks as if they were ambushed. I dismount and I start to move towards them, to pay them some respect, anything, but Tristan grabs my arm and roughly pulls me back, just as an arrow hurls itself past me. "Bait," he growls, and pulls out his bow. I follow suit, but as I am lifting my bow up off the horse I feel a searing pain on my left side. An arrow has struck my side, below my arm to the left of my breast. It pierces my shirt, grazing my torso leaving a thick, deep gash across my skin before exiting. Gods it hurts! There are more of them than us, and Tristan quickly realizes this, and orders retreat. We ride hard, dodging a well-conceived rope trap set up by the Woads, but are not pursued.

We manage to make it out of the heavily populated Woad territory unharmed, We ride lightly trying to hide our tracks, and in silence. We make for the citadel once again, empty-handed and distraught. Tristan is annoyed with himself for not sensing a trap. I am preoccupied both by the carnage and my own injury. After awhile, Tristan senses my distress and uncharacteristically tries to make small talk to distract me. "You did well," he says. I'm not really listening, but than he adds, "for a girl." I turn, startled, sending a searing pain down my left side. Tristan notices my wound for the first time, "Fool!" he shouts, but he looks concerned as fresh blood starts to ooze out. He leads the horses to a sheltered grove and helps me down. He curses as he lifts me off the horse, "Why didn't youtell me you were injured!" He lays me on the forest floor, and has to take off my shirt and the band that keeps my breast down in order to tend and clean my wound. That would be why I didn't tell him, but at this point I don't care. It hurts, ugh, his hands make it hurt even worse! The world slows down and goes black and…

I wake up a few hours later. It is dark, and Tristan has a fire going. I am surprised, and ask if it won't attract the Woads. He says that we are too close to the fortress for the Woads to venture. We would be back by now except that he was afraid to move me so soon. He smiles and tries to feed me some thin broth. He has a calm, comforting presence. He asks me for my true name, my story. And for some strange reason, I tell him.


	11. Revealations

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, Dzerassa's character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something._

To anonymous reviewer, (and everyone else too)—oh, you're right, my chapters are awfully short aren't they? Sorry, it's just that I've had the_ ending _of this story in my head forever, so I know how it's going to end, but am having trouble with the middle part. And I can't just write the ending because, you know…it's the end. Should I fill it up with more random adventures and escapades, or just cut to the chase and end it (in a few chapters) how I originally envisioned it?

**Chapter Eleven: Revelations**

We make our way back to the fort later that night, very slowly. Everyone is asleep. Tristan is kind enough to carry me to the healing halls and tend to me there. He cleans the wound properly, and sews it up as best he can, and then gives me a nutty tasting tonic for the pain. However, he won't give me back the band I use to bind my breasts, either because it could cause the stitches to break or he is mean. I suppose it is the former, but I am anxious nonetheless. I ask him what he thinks I should do.  
"Do?" he questions drowsily,

"Yes! What should I do? They will notice that I left as a boy and came back like – this!" I motion broadly, hurting my side, and he grabs both my arms and pushes me back towards the bed.

"First of all, I think you should STOP MOVING!" I shrink back down; I've never heard him sound so menacing. But a few moments later I start laughing, ruthless Tristan is concerned for me! Is it because he thinks I'm some damsel in distress. I'm not! Well, actually, I have been in need of rescuing lately…I grow solemn again. Tristan is looking at me strangely, "I could have sworn that that was a sedative I gave you." I start laughing again, "No, I don't think so. Maybe an anti-depressant…I haven't felt like this since….I stole all of Marius' shoes and replaced them with _slightly_ smaller sizes…" I laugh again, hurting my side, but suddenly grow concerned, I look at Tristan meaningfully. "But don't tell him! Please don't tell him, Tristan, you don't know what he'll do…" Tristan looks horrified, and pulls me close to him to keep me from trying to escape the confines of the bed. What kind of medicine did he give me? I feel my rationality giving way to panic, but meaningless panic, all my fears I can see vividly before me, so real! Tristan just holds me.

* * *

He is worried: _I must have given her the wrong medicine; it was supposed to calm her, not make her a paranoiac, a hysterical nervous wreck_. _Alright, _he swears to himself, _from now on, I will ALWAYS get the healer before fooling around with medicines. _He couldn't even fetch the healer now, because that would mean leaving Dzerassa alone in the state she was in and who knew what she would try to do. He feels guilty. He was only trying to help. He just holds on to her until she stops shouting and crying, until her breathing returns to normal, until she sleeps.

* * *

I wake up late the next morning; the midday sun is already flooding the room. A loose, colorful shawl is all that covers my chest, allowing the wound to breath. Tristan is asleep; head slumped over on my stomach. I feel as if I have the worst hangover. All last night seems like one fuzzy, painful blur. I look at an empty bottle resting near the foot of the bed. It is labeled "_Serus periclitatio –onis_," or "experimental serum." I sigh. Obviously someone never learned to read. The empty space on the shelf tells me it was located right next to the bottle labeled "sedative." Tristan must have grabbed the wrong bottle in haste. Oh well. I try to figure out exactly where in the complex I am by the scene I can observe from the window, and it is now that I realize that we are not alone in the room. In fact, we are very, very much not alone. The other knights were waiting on the other side of the room, and they quickly cross the distance when they see that I am awake. I move my leg, kneeing Tristan and waking him up. He gruffly mumbles "Eh? What you want den?" He seems rather dazed, and has left a large drool spot on the sheet.

The others are all either glaring or grinning down at us. Gawain tentatively reaches out to shake Tristan, "Eh Tristan, you left with a _boy_..." Tristan grunts, and I cross my arms defensively across my chest. Bors laughs so loudly that it's painful, "yea, now, why does our apprentice seem to have breasts?" I wince at his immodesty. Gawain still looks amused, Tristan still hasn't woken up completely, Dagonet is as non-committal as always. Galahad looks slightly concerned, and a little bemused, and Lancelot is leaning against the wall, observing with a scowl that could mean anger or amusement. I don't quite know how to react to this, but thankfully, Tristan answers for me in as few words as ever, "Well, now, that's just how women are, Bors." He gets up, swaying slightly, and ushers everyone out of the room.


	12. Painted Memories

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, Dzerassa's character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something._

_Sorry i haven't updated in awhile, life's been hectic. I think the story may seem a little jumpy or random in the next few chapters, as i try to figure out where it's going. Thanks for continuing to review, it helps! Neveah_

**Chapter Twelve: Painted Memories**

I am not surprised that Galahad insists on spending almost every moment of all the days that I am confined to bed by my side. He feels a sort of protective or brotherly closeness to me. I am surprised, however, to hear that Tristan has been keeping a sort of vigil outside my door. I suppose he feels responsible somehow, though I don't see why. It wasn't he who shot me. In any case, I am stuck in bed for a long time. Every time I try to sneak out knights pounce on me, appearing from nowhere, and order me back. They can be quite frightening.

Gawain comes to visit me once. He can't stop smiling. He thinks my deception was just the biggest practical joke ever, and he keeps coming up with new jokes about it. To tell the truth, it starts to get annoying and I am very close to kicking him out of the room, when he pulls a small package from behind his back and hands it to me. Surprised, I take it. There is a small book of bland parchment and a black charcoal pencil, an expensive gift. "You looked bored," he explains, and I thank him. He says he filched it from Arthur's desk, but I have a feeling he made that up. I swear, that man will do or say anything for a little bit of drama.

After he leaves I play around with my new prized possessions. My only prized possessions, come to think of it, besides my necklace. I can read Latin a little, but mostly just labels; and I have never written, so I don't try. I decide to draw instead. The pencil feels strange in my hand. I am remembering faces again. I want to put the visages of my family on paper before they fade away entirely. It is frustrating at first; I can picture hair, or eyes, but not a whole face. Eventually I do though, and I sketch mother and father, my sister, even Secunda. I am working on my brother's picture when Tristan comes in. My brother is the hardest to draw. I was small when I was sold to the Romans, but even smaller when he was taken. He hair…laughing eyes, like father….Tristan comes forward and stands over my shoulder, watching. He asks what I am doing, so I tell him quickly so that he'll go away. I want to be alone. He looks at me strangely, "Your brother?" he asks, "But you've gone and drawn Galahad." I stare at the paper. He's right. The face is younger, happier perhaps, but it is Galahad nonetheless.

* * *

I must admit, the thought of having family seems to fill my mind and spirit. It means loyalties, belonging, trust. A part of me is mad at myself for feeling sentimental. Nothing has really changed, we are all still the same people, boy, girl, brother, sister, or not. But another part of me is extremely nervous. Galahad thinks that my picture proves that we are related, and even if it is not so, I know he will continue to act as a kind of adoptive brother at least. But I do not have the heart to tell him what I remember about our family, our clan, our people. This makes it hard to talk to him, because I feel I am hiding something. But this man has been waiting, fighting, for _fourteen years_, for the opportunity and the right to return to that home and family. How can I take that away from him? How can I tell him the one goal he's held for the better part of his life can never be obtained? I will not tell him. Or at least, not right now. Later. I tell him for now that I don't remember much, and he believes me. It is true, after all. 


	13. A Flicker of Joy

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, Dzerassa's character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something.

_I have a feeling that this chapter will stir up some criticism; all I can say I bear with me. She's a person like anyone else, and will stay true to her character while developing as a person. (Well, a fictional person…never mind, just read)_

**Chapter Thirteen: A Flicker of Joy**

Today I can leave the healing halls. My first appearance as a girl. I know it is vain of me, but I want to look nice, but not changed. I am still the same Dzer-- well, Dzerassa at least. Will they accept that? Or will I be sent off to go raise children or something? Anxiously, I slip on the loose brown pants I've always worn. But instead of my shapeless and now bloodied over shirt that I wore to hide my figure, I put on a tight fitting tunic that laces up the front. It holds my bandages in place, though I think the wound is soundly healed. However, I notice that it makes a certain part of my body look especially noticeable, and so, blushing, I wrap a brightly colored mantle around my shoulders. The added splash of color shouldn't look out of place because there is some sort of festival tonight, something to do the moon. Sounds like "dreaded paganism" to me, but it's another excuse to get drunk so the Romans allow it. I glance at the reflection of my petite figure in a washbasin, and then run my fingers through my dark hair. I haven't worn my hair down for years, and its extra weight and bounce seem cumbersome. Lastly I slip on my calfskin boots, but then pause by the wall. I hate that I am feeling so nervous. I take a deep breathe: this is stupid, they aren't going to judge me, they are my friends! Right? Suddenly both determined and slightly annoyed, I march resolutely to the door and shove it open forcefully –right into Gawain's face. He goes down with a colorful array of obscenities (in at least four different languages) most of which seem to be directed at me. But after a minute he picks himself up and tries to regain his composure before informing me that he will be escorting me down to the tavern. Despite my protests that that is a ridiculous notion and I've walked to the tavern dozens of times, quite capably on my own, he proceeds to take my arm and half-accompanies, half-drags me down the stairs.

I try to enter the tavern hidden behind Gawain, but at the last minute he pushes me in front of him. All the knights turn around and look at me. And laugh. I guess they are still unused to the idea of me as a girl, or at least with the body of a girl. It is extremely embarrassing. I look around for something hard to throw at them, but there are just so damn many of them! Galahad assures me that it is the expression on my face that they find so amusing, not my appearance. I roll my eyes but accept the drink that he hands me anyway. After a few more minutes of heckling, a lewd suggestion from Lancelot (he was kidding—I think,) and a drunken challenge to a duel with Lancelot from my 'brother' Galahad in defense of my honor, things started to settle down. Discussion turned back to its normal composite of random comments and remarks, and I set back and listened and watched the activity around me, feeling, for the very first time in years, perfectly content and safe.

The others are content to stay at the tavern drinking until the wee hours of the morning, but by the time night falls I have already joked, lost miserably at a game of chance with Lancelot, nearly murdered someone trying to throw a dagger, and drunken a whole mug of mead, enough to make me rather tipsy. Which, I suppose, would account for the aforementioned events. In any case, I step out into the cold night air and walk away from the noise of drunken men. I look at the stars above. They are very clear this night; they seem like beacons in the dark. I am startled by a sound behind me, and whirl around to see Tristan standing there. He looks to me, and then to the sky,

"What do you hope to see in the skies?" he questions.

"I don't know. Nothing. Everything. Why are you here?"

"Same reason as you, I suppose. I like the quiet." He looks me over, "Perhaps you should not stray so far away from the others." I am insulted, I reply defensively,

"You doubt my ability to take care of myself?" He doesn't reply, he doesn't need to. He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a sheathed dagger. He hands it to me and gets up, "Just in case." Then he leaves. Slowly, I examine the weapon; lightweight, elegant, curved. It's beautiful, really. I attach it to my belt. He is a strange man. I wish he would reveal more of his thoughts, but his silence tells me nothing, leaving me only with my own contemplations.

I look back up at the stars, but their mystery doesn't seem to compare to his. Both have intangible secrets, yet he can never be as distant as the stars. He is flesh and blood; if I can never understand the stars, I want to understand him. I step forward to watch him go. He is not headed towards the knight's lodging; rather, he is walking towards the forested edge of the complex. Where is he going? I follow him, around the bend near the edge of the forest. I think I should leave him be, but he turns around and smiles at me faintly through the distance. He heard me following. I laugh quietly, of course he heard me. He is a scout. He is still about two hundred feet ahead of me when he makes a small gesture with his wrist, and continues walking. I follow, up a seldom-used earthen path that weaves across a rolling hill, and then up to a second, larger hill. I don't see him anymore. I think I have lost him and am about to turn back when I feel a hand on my arm. Tristan smiles lightly at me.

"Why did you lead me here?" I ask.

"Why did you follow?" he retorts. I can't answer that. I don't know why I did. But as if to answer his own question, Tristan spins me around to face the direction we came from. I gasp. Below us lies the entire fortress. It is illuminated by dozens of torches. They flicker against the night, swaying with the festival music as if rejoicing. The sight rivals the stars themselves. "It is amazing," I murmur, mesmerized. "Yes," he agrees. But he is not looking at the lights.

He moves closer and gently brushes his hand across my cheek. I lean into him and tilt my head as he pulls me towards him with strong arms. I tense as he runs his hand down my spine, and slowly, we sink down to the earth.

* * *

I wake up and feel an icy breeze across my skin. I lean my head back down on Tristan's warm body. It is still that strange time before sunrise, when the air is silent and still, and it is barely light out though the sun cannot be seen out. Suddenly I am restless. I rise quietly. I slip on my clothes, I pick up the mantle and play with it for a moment, seeing what the colorful cloth would look like as s skirt or dress. I sigh and roll my eyes at my childishness. I am becoming such a girl! Ultimately I end up wrapping it close around Tristan, like a blanket. I walk down the hillside and find the small stream trickling through it. I rinse my hands and face quickly, but the water bites at my flesh. I spot a small field of wild berries at the base of the hill. Perhaps I should bring some back to Tristan. The thought makes me blush. Then again, there is no one around to see me act so sentimental. It is nice to have someone else to think of. It is nice not to feel alone.

I am crouched down gathering fruit at the edge of the field when I hear a branch snap behind me. I think that Tristan must have found me, and I smile at the thought. However, when I look up the face I see is not Tristan's. It is a drunken Roman soldier, grinning stupidly down at me. I rise, drooping the berries, and then nod courtly, not making eye-contact. I try to sidestep his form, but he grabs me roughly by the arm. I subtly reach for the dagger at my waste, but it is not there. I left it on the hillside, by Tristan! Instead, I knee the man in the groin and flee, only to find myself surrounded by his more sober buddies. I take a deep breath, but one warns me, "Don't scream or by the time anyone gets here, you'll by dead." I can see the logic in this statement: they are all armed. Drunk as they may be, I cannot hope to defeat them all. I don't speak. My eyes flicker about, trying to find a chance to escape. I can't fight my way out: despite a stubborn sense of pride, I acknowledge that I am one small woman and they five fully grow, militarily trained, armed men. One takes a step closer, leering, his eyes look dead and vacant. _Screw this, _I think, and start to scream, but it is too late, and a sweaty hand is clasped over my mouth, and I feel a sharp pain resonate from the base of my neck. I slip into unconsciousness and my fear dissolves into black.


	14. Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, Dzerassa's character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something.

_Oh la, thanks to all the wonderful reviewers! I should be able to update more quickly because I've written the rest of the story, and am just editing etc. So please keep reviewing so I know what's good/ bad and what makes sense and what is just rambling. I tend to do that sometimes…: ) Hope you like it though._

**Chapter Fourteen: Captive**

When light returns I find myself in a wagon, well-outside of the fortress walls. I am in a Roman convoy, headed off the island. My hands and feet are bound, my mouth gagged. I don't know why I am here. There were many women at the fortress, many more in all of Britain, still more in Rome and the rest of Europe. Why have I been taken? The Romans are known for their discipline, I cannot imagine that the kidnapping of townswomen is an act warranted in their regulations, nor can I believe that my capture would be any sort of benefit whatsoever. This can't even be dismissed as the drunken act of some stupid low-life soldier, because I am in a wagon, in plain sight of the commanding officer. A mounted soldier catches a glimpse of me, and rides over to his commanding officer. A few moments later I am joined by a handsome man in glinting armor. He smiles as he enters the back of the wagon and sits, blocking my view of the outside world. Still, he makes me feel uneasy.

"Do you want something to drink?" he calmly pours out a goblet of wine from a flask. I ignore him, but he removes my gag anyway. I can't deny my thirst for long, and take the cup with bound hands. He watches my drink before speaking, and the thought of poison briefly crosses my mind.

"You don't remember me, do you?" He questions me softly, "But I remember you." I scoot backwards, but am trapped by the walls of the wagon, he reaches out his hand, "Well, I don't remember your name….but the rest of you—" He runs his hand through my hair and then roughly pulls me to him by the base of my neck.

"Who are you?" I ask, trying to pull away. He only smirks,

"Your superior, that's really all the justification I owe you."

"My friends, they'll come after me." I warn.

"After a worthless whore? A foreigner, at that?" He laughs. "Yes, I remember you, the insolent one. The nymph-like serving girl who had the nerve to try and refuse ME!" Great, I think to myself. Yet again, I've found myself at the mercy of a mad-man. A mad man who thinks I look like a nymph. Is he trying to threaten me or impress me by hi poetic worldliness? He laughs again, "That rejection didn't work out too well, now did it? No, no, no, my dear, we were so _very _close." Oh Gods, he was one of _those_. One of the men, the pigs I vowed never to think of again, never to let have any power over me again.

He shoves me down and continues, "You were a slave at the villa of the fair Lady Secunda. I was one of the many who came to woo her, for she had both money and beauty. Needed to be shown her place as a woman though, as did you." He grabs the gag and ties it once again around my mouth, "I was rejected by her and her father then, but now as the commander of a legion,_ and _as the captor of her slave, doubtless a runaway – how could she refuse?" He laughs again, downs the rest of the wine, and leaves me.

I am left alone until we reach the ports. For this, I am truly grateful. I feared that I was to be used as the communal bed-warmer (quite a euphemism, I assure you.) If that were the case, I doubt I would have survived the entire journey. But the commander has let no one near me, excepting a young boy who brought me food once. Perhaps the commander remembers our "short time together." Perhaps he was one of the ones who I tried so very hard to hurt in some way. But perhaps not, I always paid for it. I try not to think of those days, it only makes me feel small. Instead, I think only of Tristan, of escape. He'll come for me, I know it. And Galahad. My Brother! He is my brother, I know it now, he must be. And Tristan is my lover, he'll come for me! He see the fallen berries, the footprints and struggle in the dust, he'll know. Another part of my mind argues: it rained yesterday, the day before; he'll never see any signs of the struggle. But I have to suppress this part of my mind. I need hope; I cannot escape on my own! Tristan WILL come for me! Tristan will come...

_Intrigued? No? Just a tidbit? She got a little desperate at the end there…anyway, review please! Well, i guess you don't have to review that chapter, it was reletively uneventful...but the rest should be up soon! Neveah_


	15. Destination

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, Dzerassa's character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something.

**Chapter Fifteen: Destination**

The commander was killed in a drunken brawl almost as soon as we reached the other side of the passage across the water. It's just as well. Though I was held below decks in the hold, I still understood the dissent among the men, the talk of mutiny. The commander was delusional, bring home women and talking of nymphs and rewards. I agreed, for Secunda was surely married with children by now. They celebrated their safe passage across the waters, and he was stabbed. They say he was drunk, yet I do suspect the second in command had something to do with it. No matter. I had hoped I would be forgotten and allowed to return home, but instead I am quickly sold at the nearest slave market. Sold very cheap, if I am any judge of my own worth, not that I like to think of those terms. I wish I had made it all the way to Rome. Would I could have fought in the Coliseum and brought death and fear for ripping me away from HOME! AGAIN! Ironic, I note to myself, that I had never thought of the fortress as home until I was forced to leave. Instead of death, though, I find prolonged life. I am sold to an old woman. She is practically a hermit and I do not know how she could have afforded me. She tells me that I have a nice face, and that she knows I will help her around her small home. I could easily murder her and burn this place to ash.

I flee that night. I know it is illogical; I know I should stay with her and wait until I rebuild my strength. I know I should rest and become familiar with my environment to avoid capture. I don't care. I take all her food in a small sack and walk out. Something tugs at my conscience as I pass over the threshold. I turn back and rip my necklace from my throat and leave it, glinting on the floor. She can sell it. Or she can die. I don't care. I run.


	16. False Betrayal

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, Dzerassa's character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something.

Chapter 15 and 16 are really short so i posted them at the same time...yep...

**Chapter Sixteen: False Betrayal**

_TRISTAN'S PERSPECTIVE_

It has been nearly a year since Dzerassa came. It's been months since she left. The bitch. Or whore, more like it. It doesn't matter. She is just another woman, another body. Even Galahad agrees, he says she couldn't be his sister. Just another trick, another deception. Women and their manipulation. She is just as meaningless as the rest. Just as unmemorable to me.

That is a lie. I know it is.

Today is supposed to be a day of joy. Today we were supposed to be granted freedom. We were supposed to be granted passage home. Instead, we are confronted with death. This is because of more deception, more lies, this time those of Bishop Germanus. I don't mind though. I don't care. I supported Arthur – no, that's not true. Dagonet supported Arthur, I supported bloodshed. I was harsh on Galahad. It doesn't matter. Killing gives me relief like nothing else. Unexpressed thoughts fly before my eyes as I inflict death. It is relief. Like Dzerassa was, for one night, before she left. Before she left me. Her brothers. Her protectors. Her saviors! I saw her get up. She wrapped her shawl around me like a mother, so tenderly that I did not even speak. But I watched as she walked down the mountain. I slept a little more, until the sun had risen in the sky, expecting her to come back. But she didn't. So I waited. And waited. In a fit, I sprung up and fled down the hillside, back to camp. Looking, looking. No one had seen her, not since the night before. I looked everywhere, I even questioned the Romans. I even went back up the hill, perhaps she went back there and was waiting for me, laughing at frantic search, and awaiting me with open arms and soft touch. Yet all I found was the knife. The one that I had given her. She had left it there, as if to spit in my face. She wanted nothing to do with me. Not my weapons. Not my friendship. Nothing. And so she will become to me. Nothing. Nothing, I tell myself everyday. And somewhere along the way, I got to believing it. She is nothing.


	17. Endgames

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, Dzerassa's character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something.

_**Veia** – Thanx for the review. I think I wrote how old Dzer was before…ummm, I think I decided that she was about 17, and has now been with the knights for a few months at least. I figure she could still have passed as a boy if she pretended to be a younger one, with a small frame and high voice etc…_

_**Zelina **– Opps, sorry if that was confusing, yes, Secunda was the one who let her free because she was her friend and cared for her. But the Roman doesn't know that and thinks strictly in terms of the concepts that make sense to him, ownership and power, not friendship. So he just assumes that she is a runaway. I guess she should have protested, but maybe she knew that he wouldn't have listened anyway. Thanx for so many reviews!_

_**Samli, Spectral Lady, Dazzler420, Dmitchell, Babaksmiles, Gondorian Archer, Bolle, JuneBirdie, Elvenstar5, Raynacchsilvermoon, and everyone else who's reviewed **: Thank you! I only have one more chapter after this before it's finished. Keep reviewing and tell me what you think of the end in the next cjapter, when its posted. I think it's a bit untraditional._

**Chapter Seventeen: Endgames**

After picking pockets and living on the streets for what I guess was about a year, I find passage on a ship bound for Britain. I sign a contract saying that I will indenture myself to the trader for three years, and become his apprentice of sorts for his many voyages. This is a contract that, of course, I have no intention of honoring. I will find my friends if I have to fight every man who stands in my way. On this particular voyage, the trader hopes to engage in illegal trade with the Woads, though he could just as easily be shot by them. Fortunately, the merchant accepts my change of plans and does not force me to kill him. In fact, once I have a knife pressed against his throat, he is quite compliant and willingly gives me his supplies and a horse. I ride furiously, and foolishly. The passage to the fort is unprotected. I heard rumors that the Romans had pulled out completely from Britain, discarding it as an "indefensible outpost." I hope this is not true, for it would mean that Arthur and the others are either dead or long gone. I search the sky again, and there! Through the clouds is a hawk! It is beautiful. It is Tristan. If he couldn't come rescue me, he must have stayed here. That's why he never came. He is waiting here, waiting on this island, for my return. Lost in my thoughts, I do not even notice the silent hunters around me. I am taking completely by surprise as I am knocked off my stolen horse. In a flash of blue, I am bound and being dragged off. The Woads. One tells me I will be brought to their king and likely killed. Another spits in my face, calling me "Roman filth." Strange. I did not know that the Woads had a king.

I laugh when I figure out where I am being taken. The fortress! I must admit, it is ironic. I will die at the very place I've longed for throughout an entire year. The Woads must have taken it over when the Romans pulled out. I wonder how my friends died. Valiantly, I am sure. Thinking of me? I can only hope. I am forced to kneel before the throne. I feel heavy and dead at the realization that everyone is gone or dead. I don't even look up until one of the Woads physically grabs my head and yanks up. I meet piercing dark eyes. The Woad queen is strikingly beautiful. And the king – "Arthur!" I yell, taken aback. I stand up sharply to the dismay of my Woad guard, but Arthur gestures for him to leave. "Dzerassa?" he questions, "Dzerassa? Why did you leave? Why did you come back?" he asks softly. His voice is eerie, but I ignore my misgivings, "Arthur! I thought you'd all died, but I knew Tristan would wait, and you're here, you're all here! And I never left, they took me after the festival, but I'm back now because I knew he'd wait, and my brother, and you, king? Why? But it doesn't matter, I just – I missed you all!" I am so overwhelmed I am practically laughing and crying at the same time, an unattractive sight I am sure. But Tristan won't mind. Arthur is silent, and then explains the conflict with the Saxons, the valiant fight. I barely listen until he mentions Lancelot's death. I look up in horror. Sure, Lancelot was blunt, but he was fun and smart and protective. "And the others?" I ask in a whisper.I had cared for Lancelot, so much. For Dagonet as well. So sweet and gentle. And they died thinking I had abandoned them without a word. Arthur continues, "Gawain and your brother returned home, to Sarmatia. Perhaps to find you as well," he smiles slightly, trying to reassure me. Galahad returned home to find only death, I think, but Arthur continues, "Bors is here, with Vanora and his children…they miss you, you should visit…." His voice wavers. "And Tristan?" I ask. Arthur won't look at my eyes. "Arthur – And Tristan?"


	18. Freedom

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, Dzerassa's character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something.

_**MaFer** – I didn't kill Tristan, it was the writers, damn them. _

_**Zelina, SpectralLady, Babaksmiles –** Thank you all for reviewing so often, I hope you liked it. _

_**Everyone**—Here it is, the last chapter. It's short, but I hope it's…umm…enlightening. _

_Reviews are very appreciated!_

**Chapter Eighteen: Freedom**

I am with Tristan. I am so close to him as I sit by his grave, yet I cannot feel him. The world is cold and snow covered. I only know he is there because of the sword that marks his resting place. I run my hand across the blade, and watch as my red bloods falls down onto the white snow. I can't feel it. This blade that split his blood, I think, has spilt mine. But I can't even feel it. I rest my head against the mound of snow, and look towards the hill where we lay together so long ago. It seems so foreign now. But as I am looking up, I catch a glance of a hawk, The Hawk. Tristan's hawk. I thought it had meant hope, but really it meant death. I rise and watch it fly. I follow it for a very long way, until I lose sight of it. I am left alone, and have never been to this area before. It is at a high elevation. The air is thin, and my breath mingles with the falling snow. I can see that I am on a cliff now, lined with huge, ominous stones, sacred to the Woads. The view is extraordinary. I walk closer, I am on the very edge of the earth, on the brink of the cliff, so close to nothingness. I close my eyes and stretch out my hands. I can feel the breeze whip around my body. I can feel the snow melt as it touches my face. I hear the hawk call behind me. Tristan. I can hear Tristan call. He wonders why I wasn't there to save him. Why I left him. Why I have not joined him. I want to join him. I don't know how. I can hear his voice, feel his touch, he loves and wants me again. Why haven't I joined him? The wind picks up. The hawk screams. I take a step forward, off the precipice, towards Tristan. And I fly.

END

_Author's Note: That's the end. Yup. She fell (jumped) off the cliff if I didn't make that clear. So what did you think? Characterization? Style? Grammar? Too sad? Too sappy? I guess I liked having a definite, irrevocable ending, but it was pretty harsh on Dzerassa, what with both her brother and love mad at her, and then all the dying, when she wonders if she could have saved any of them. I know that her relationship with Tristan came suddenly, so I made it unclear as to whether it was really meaningful, whether they would have fallen in love or not. For Dzerassa, it was something to cling to, but as for Tristan, I'm not sure whether he would have wanted to continue on with her, if she had stayed. He did care for her though. I suppose I should stop writing, but I can't believe my story's over and poor Dzer is dead. Tell me what you thought of it, and happy reading! _


End file.
